


Owl

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Gen, Light Bondage, M/M, Mirror Universe, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 07:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2957489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chekov delivers a report after trying to kill his captain. (Set after "Mirror, Mirror")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Owl

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Drabble for perlockholmes’ “Mirror!Kirk/Chekov” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/). Set after the TOS ep “Mirror, Mirror.”
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The computer can, of course, deliver messages several times faster than any crewmember, but that just isn’t quite as _fun_. Jim far prefers his latest currier, and when the door to his quarters beeps with the familiar request to open, he lazily keys the okay into the console next to him. He stays sprawled out in his chair, legs up and folded on the desk, as the door slides open. He only bothers to look up from his PADD because he wants his smirk seen. 

Pavel Chekov, scowling around the PADD wedged into his mouth, steps into the room. The harness stretched tight over his uniform binds his arms and hands securely behind his back, just as they’ve been all week. He has no ability to handle technology with his fingers, at least, not in conjunction with his eyes, no ability to eat with anything other than his mouth, to change his old uniform, to even untie the dog collar snapped around his neck. It’s there just for extra humiliation, because any man that tries and fails to assassinate their captain—or a poor doppelganger, in this case—deserves severe punishment. 

The embarrassment is probably worse than the bindings, worse than the agonizer was, and Chekov looks none too pleased as he crosses the carpet of Jim’s living space. In return, Jim openly eyes him, ogling the snug fit of the leather strap across his breast, the way the collar firmly encompasses his throat, the pulled and tousled mess of his hair. But most of all, Jim enjoys the way poor Chekov’s reduced to carrying things between his teeth like some kind of carrier pigeon. His pink lips make a pretty sight stretched around the metal, and Jim thinks it worth any saliva it’ll leave on his machinery. 

Chekov comes right up to Jim’s side and waits, and Jim merely lifts an eyebrow, his lecherous grin nearly splitting his face. He makes no move to take Chekov’s delivery, and finally, Chekov breaks and kneels down, unsteady without the use of his arms. He lowers his head all the way to Jim’s crotch before he drops the PADD into Jim’s lap, probably aware that if it falls, he’ll be back in the agony booth in a heartbeat. 

But the PADD lies still, and Chekov awkwardly pushes back to his feet. Jim tosses his current PADD to the table and retrieves the delivered one, wiping it off first on his thigh. 

“Thank you, Pavel,” he says offhandedly. Normally, he would go with ‘ensign,’ but Chekov’s been demoted past that, below even yeoman, and now he’s little more than a pet. Pets have only their intimate names. And they’re a long way off from an officer, which Chekov will have to claw his way back to one murder at a time. 

For now, he mutters, “Thank you, Keptin,” with his heavy accent and a bit of a sneer twisting his Slavic features. Jim gives him a longer look, trying to determine whether putting him to other uses would be worth it. But no, it would just give Chekov an early way to worm his way back into favour, and Jim, when he thinks of it, has no desire to bed fleas that try to challenge his authority and life.

He asks, just to make it sting, “Are you comfortable in your new uniform expansions?” In other words, his thorough binding. Chekov wrinkles his nose. 

But he knows how the Empire works, and he says, “Yes, Keptin,” because it’s all he _can_ say. Jim chuckles. 

Jim, feeling oddly merciful, kicks at Chekov’s shin and nods towards his door. While Chekov grunts, Jim ordains, “Go back to your quarters until you’re called.” Though, of course, his quarters have been confiscated, and he’s now staying with Sulu. Hopefully, the chief of security will whip him back into shape. Perhaps literally. Chekov gives a little shiver at the order, but he does turn to go like the obedient dog he’s become. 

Jim slaps his ass before he gets very far, but Chekov just takes it and continues walking, probably plotting his next devious revenge.


End file.
